


Liberty Challenged

by angelgazing



Category: Psych
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgazing/pseuds/angelgazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gus is not a BFF-slut, because it's not cheating to think about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberty Challenged

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be Shawn/Gus, but as per my usual M.O. ended up being what totally counts for gen, because the show's writers are way more OTP about Shawn/Gus than I will ever be. Thanks to [](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/profile)[**musesfool**](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/) for the prompt, and for looking it over. Written for [this](http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=465) [A Softer World](http://www.asofterworld.com) comic.

Sometimes, Gus daydreams about having a new best friend.

Most of the time, he can comfort himself from the trials of Life as Shawn Spencer's Best Friend with thoughts of a tell-all book, or by planning a trip to Vegas where they don't nearly get their kneecaps broken. When it gets tough, he just thinks about how popular his blog would be if he started telling all of Shawn's secrets, like how he's read all the Twilight books, and kind of thinks Robert Pattinson is dreamy.

Then, sometimes, he just likes to sit back, close his eyes, and imagine what his life would've been like if he'd befriended Jeremy Levi instead, that first day of school when Shawn entered his life and things spun out of control in ways that would've horrified Linda Blair.

Jeremy Levi never would've used his credit card; or deleted an entire season of So You Think You Can Dance off his DVR; or gone through seventeen jobs in three weeks. He definitely wouldn't have pretended to be a psychic detective for the Santa Barbara Police Department to hit on a group of crazy women in an all night ice cream parlor, in some backwater town the GPS didn't even acknowledge.

"This is all your fault, Shawn," Gus says, again, because he doesn't like it when Shawn forgets he is responsible—directly or indirectly—for 94.369 percent of all suffering in Gus's life.

"How was I supposed to know they'd go crazy and kidnap us and keep us prisoner in their grandmother's house in the woods?" Shawn asks. It would have been a very valid and logical point, if it had come from anyone who wasn't Shawn.

"Really, Gus, I'm the true victim here, I'm the one being locked up in this room, taken out and used, and then tossed right back in again. I'm an Ouija board servant. I'm being used as their own personal psychic slave. You can't imagine the ways that I have suffered."

"You're a servant to an Ouija board?"

"I am a servant to many things, Gus. Ouija boards, movies with Molly Ringwald, the call of low calorie frozen yogurt on a warm summer night…"

Shawn says all of that with his feet propped up on a low coffee table, an ice cold Pineapple Fanta in one hand, the remote for the 52 inch LCD flat screen in the other, and not a single care for the way his butchering of the English language makes the baby Jesus cry.

"Aw, Gus," Shawn says, pushing the Pineapple Fanta to his chest, and looking at Gus with wide eyes. The plastic cover over the sofa squeaks when he moves. "You've got your Jeremy-Levi-Would've-Made-a-Way-Better-Best-Friend face on. You know how much that hurts me."

"Jeremy Levi never dangled his modifiers," Gus answers, darkly, and crosses his arms. Then, maybe a little too much like an afterthought, "I don't like it here, Shawn. It smells like vanilla potpourri, stale peppermint candies and Aspercreme."

"You swore a sacred blood oath," Shawn says sadly, shaking his head. "We've been together so long. We just bought those t-shirts that say, _I'm with my BFF_."

"You bought those shirts, Shawn."

"We haven't even worn them yet, and you're thinking about leaving me for Jeremy Levi."

"Shawn!"

"I've totally got a plan to get us out of here, Gus. And it doesn't include Lassiter ever finding out that we got abducted by a couple of sorority sisters, a mother-to-be, and a possible-child-bride housewife."

Gus sighs, and sits down on the opposite end of the sofa. He only kicks Shawn a little bit on his way. "You called your dad?" he asks. He crosses his arms, then reconsiders and swipes Shawn's soda. Shawn lets it go without a fight, which is the biggest apology Gus has ever gotten out him.

"And I found a Top Model marathon."

Something about Tyra Banks just eases the tension in Gus's bones, makes it harder to hold onto his—very justifiable—anger. It's a weakness Shawn knows well, but that's most likely a hazard of all best friends. Of course, Jeremy Levi would probably be watching Law &amp; Order reruns, or Fox News. Gus hands the not-quite-empty bottle back to Shawn.

"And when we get home, I'll make us some BFF bracelets, just like we used to wear."

"We never wore those, Shawn."

"If you're wearing a BFF bracelet, you can't think about leaving me for a new BFF. They'll totally see you're unavailable. It will be obvious to everyone who passes by that you've already pledged you BFFdom to another."

"You're lucky Tyra's on."

"All day long, buddy."

Gus can't help but settle in a little more. "This isn't the worst captivity ever, maybe."

"It's at least in the top five best captivities ever," Shawn insists.

Gus is going to start a blog when they get out of here, and he's going to post those videos of the time Shawn spent in a Bon Jovi/Warrant cover band. Then he's going to send the link to everyone at the station. And maybe Jeremy Levi.


End file.
